A Tangled Web
by Spawn0fBellatrix
Summary: Mr. Todd has returned to London, and Mrs. Albert Lovett needs his help. Rated very much M.
1. Chapter 1

_**Welcome to chapter one! I have the first half or so completely written, so I'll be updated regularly. Please R+R! **_

Somehow, the stability—the consistency with his memories of this building—made entering the pie shop on Fleet Street all the more dreadful. He'd never been terribly fond of the place to begin with, in all honestly, but seeing it exactly as it was fifteen long years ago, as if the whole rest of the world had changed around it, gave him pause. Nevertheless, there was a chance that inside of the building had frozen the same as the outside. He rationalized the spooky similarity to be a good omen and stepped in.

It was a mistake. While the building's facade had stood the test of time, the interior sunk under dust, grime, and the sad decay of sheer emptiness. It appeared abandoned. Fine—he'd not dared to hope he'd find what he wanted inside those doors. He turned to leave, the bell above the shop door tinkling behind him. "Wait!" he heard, turning back around.

Red wild hair and wide wild eyes greeted him. There she stood, the Mrs. Nellie Lovett whose name the building bore. Well, she didn't stand for long—within seconds she'd rushed to his side, sat him in a booth, handed him a tragic-looking pie and flat ale. Always a flurry of motion and blabber, just as he remembered.

He picked up her story mid-stream: "...well lemme tell you, Mrs. Mooney 'cross the way there 'as her pie shop, does good business but I noticed somethin'—"

"Nell!" a familiar voice bellowed. He stopped himself, with a great deal of effort, from rolling his eyes; he'd never exactly been fond of Albert Lovett, either. Mrs. Lovett, he noticed, froze up and fell quiet—another detail he'd nearly forgotten. "Wot're you out there ramblin' 'bout now?"

"We—we 'ave a guest, love," she called back. She offered him a forced smile, and he thanked his lucky stars, few though they were, she hadn't recognized him, although she herself had hardly changed.

He heard _lumbering_ footsteps, and then Albert Lovett stood in front of him. _He'd_ changed, actually—gotten fatter and meaner-looking, a feat Sweeney Todd would hardly have thought possible. Albert put on a jovial-looking face and extended a hand, and Todd felt no choice but to shake it in return. "Al Lovett," he said curtly, "I own the building, the woman, the whole thing."

"Name's Todd," he clipped in return, "Sweeney Todd." He didn't react to Mrs. Lovett, whose face fell at his name. "You have a room above the shop?"

"Aye mate," Albert replied, "Give yer a good price on't."

"Up there?" Mrs. Lovett chimed in, "No one's been up there in years." Albert turned threateningly toward his wife, showing her the back of his hand. She quieted down.

"I'd like to take a look," Todd said, his monotonous voice nonetheless cutting short Albert's threats.

"'Course, mate," Albert said. "Nell, show 'im 'round, wontya? And don't say anything stupid." Mrs. Lovett nodded and, unnervingly silently, lead Mr. Todd out the door.

Two sets of stairs connected the two rooms—one from the Lovetts' parlor to the upstairs bedroom, another outside from storefront-to-storefront—and the pair ascended the external stairs in silence, Mrs. Lovett leading the way. He'd barely closed the door behind him when he heard her say, her back still to him, "S'good to see you, Ben."

His mouth gaped open. "How did you—"

"Recognized you the moment you walked in," she said quietly. "Didn't think Al would, but couldn't let on to be safe."

"Where are they?" he asked. No point hesitating.

Now she turned to look at him, and the stoicism of her normally-expressive face instantly worried him. "Lucy's gone. The little one got taken by that awful Judge after he...er..._ruined_ Lucy. Ain't no one seen her since that I've heard of."

Whatever life was left in his face drained out as the news washed over him. Lucy...Johanna..._gone?_ "Evil bastard," Mrs. Lovett continued on her own, "Ain't a life wot would be missed by many, I can tell you that."

"Hopefully not, because I'm going to kill him," Todd muttered.

Mrs. Lovett's eyes lit up and she let out a quick "oh!" Scurrying around the room, she tested a few floorboards before finding the loose one, prying it up, and digging out a package. "You'll need these, then," she said, handing over the package to Todd with a smirk.

A bit of silver gleaned up at him, poking from one corner of the thin brown paper. Joy, almost, bubbled up in him as he tore eagerly at the paper. He grinned wickedly, and his reflection grinned back in the clean shimmer of the razors he'd thought he'd lost fifteen years ago. "You—"

"Didn't want the coppers to get to them, or Albert," she responded before he even had time to ask the question. She was always good at that, he recalled. He took a moment to look at her face. So little had changed—her fiery red hair and large hazel eyes were just as he remembered, as were her fair, fair skin and pouting lips; she seemed hardly to have aged. It was difficult to believe, truly. And as always, she continued on, "I wanted to hide the baby, too, but Al gave 'er up." She sighed with fifteen years' worth of regret, "S'for the best, probably."

It was then he caught sight of a bit of purple around her pale white wrist, where her sleeve had pushed up a bit. "Still?" he asked.

Mrs. Lovett looked him directly in the eye. "Ain't much gotten better since you left, love." He scowled, and she stared out into the mist beyond the single window. "I hope you get 'im. God knows 'e deserves it."

He held up a razor, letting it catch a bit of light through the window, the reflection scintillating on the wooden walls around him. "Oh, I'll get him. Just a matter of when."


	2. Chapter 2

They were yelling downstairs. Again. He'd only been renting the room for a few hours, and had ventured downstairs only for a quick supper, and bloody Albert couldn't stop screaming at his wife, who screamed right back.

"Have you already fucked him? Bleedin' harlot, you always was," Albert's voice boomed.

"Oh piss off Al," Mrs. Lovett responded—quieter than her husband, but still loudly.

"Answer me!" Silence, and then the _thud _of a body hitting the wooden floor.

"Just finish your gin and go to bed," Mrs. Lovett said, at a reasonable volume. Silence again, then stomps across the room. Todd instinctively wanted to check downstairs, but he'd only create more problems—cutting your landlord's throat on the first night seemed like an easy way to get shipped back to Botany Bay before killing Judge Turpin. Besides, Mrs. Lovett hated them intervening fifteen years ago, and he doubted she was now less stubborn. A door slammed, followed by silence. Finally. Todd sank into his chair, back to formulating his revenge plot. _He could be a barber again_. A grin spread over his lips as he imagined ruby red blood spilling from the Judge's evil throat. He could practically feel it running through his hands when the sound of his door creaking open sprung him from his thoughts.

In stomped Mrs. Lovett, irate and wiping at her face. Not noticing him at all, she sank down into the farthest corner of the room, muttering what sounded like "evil arse" to herself.

After a moment, Mr. Todd spoke up. "Mrs. Lovett?"

"Oi!" The woman startled visibly. "Sorry Mr. T. Ain't used to anyone bein' up here yet, it seems." She made the effort to smile softly at him.

"You come up here much?" he asked.

Mrs. Lovett shrugged. "After he goes to bed, but 'fore he's actually asleep," she replied. "If he's being an arse. Bastard spit on me tonight. I _hate_ when he does that."

The _when_ fell hard against his ears. "S'bloody in_human_ is wot it is," she continued on. "You spit on streets or in pots, not on people."

Todd nodded in vague agreement. "He does that...often?"

"Only when he's absolutely pissed," she said. "If there's any sober part of 'im it's just a slap or two, but when he's too drunk for that sort of finer movement it's a shove and spit if he can get his hands on me. Normally I can duck him, but he trapped me tonight."

Silence. Todd wanted to do, well, anything, but wasn't sure what would even help her. But, never one for silence, Mrs. Lovett continued on: "He wanted to know if we was havin' an affair already, always bloody thinkin' I hitch me skirts up for every man I see. Been a saint of a wife for twenty bloomin' years, but he thinks I'm the 16-year-old slag he was told 'e married."

Was she trying to stun him? Sweeney Todd cared for no one but Lucy, he tried to remind himself, but here he stood, desperate to comfort this woman he'd barely remembered existed for the last decade. A teenage bride to a mean older man, who'd grown into this flurry of motion and chatter and joy that not even Albert's heavy fist could stifle. He silently crossed to her and sat down beside her, sympathetically placing a hand on top of her's. "Oi, what am I doing whinging to you?" she murmured sheepishly, patting his hand. "You've got more'n enough troubles without me ravin' like a lunatic at you."

Todd shrugged. "It's...nice, actually. Thinking about something else."

Mrs. Lovett smiled up at him. "Well, thank you love." She sighed heavily. "He's probably near asleep by now. I should head back down..." Her wistful look as she didn't move was all the evidence Todd needed to say, "Stay here a while more."

Mrs. Lovett paused for just a moment. "Well, alright then, love." They sat in silence. "'ave you planned it all out?"

Todd looked back at her—he hadn't quite meant to glare, but over the last fifteen years, hard looks became his natural expression. "Your revenge plot, love? You said you was gonna get that rotten ol' judge."

"I'm going to slit his throat," Todd replied gruffly.

Mrs. Lovett waited for more, but nothing came. She snorted gently, saying "I guessed as much, Mr. T."

"You think you could do better?" He asked, more anger than he wanted seeping into his monotone.

Her eyes twinkled defiant, and a little cheeky. "With nothin' else to do for fift—" a glass shattering downstairs broke her from her thoughts. "Hell, what now?" Mrs. Lovett muttered to herself. She rose on tired bones to return downstairs, but paused as soon as her fingertips touched the doorknob. She looked back and caught Todd's eye, and asked solemnly, slyly, "'ow would you like some practice before killin' the judge?"


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you to everyone who's been reading! Please let me know your thoughts and feedback if you can. I'm working on some rewrites to future chapters now, hoping to get Todd a little more in character. Let me know what you think. **_

It was a delicious thought, slitting Albert Lovett's throat. It had sustained him for almost twenty-four hours, now. Todd was sitting in a booth in the pie shop nursing his gin with the future victim's wife, their target passed out on the wedding bed.

"I'd've done it years ago if I were you," he told Mrs. Lovett.

"Aye, I'm sure you would've," she teased him back. "Wouldn't 'ave done _me_ much good though. They—" she gestured vaguely around her—"they all love him 'round here. _Hate_ me. Hated me since I was a wee thing. Couldn't pull it off alone. And accomplices, well they're a bit of a gamble, ain't they?" She winked at him. He drank.

"I didn't know you're from Fleet Street," he said, vaguely changing the subject.

"Me? I ain't," she snorted again, and he hated how charming he found it, "No, from one of those little northern towns, fact'ries and all. Been here most my life, though."

"And how did the great Albert Lovett of great high class Fleet Street society come to marry a little northern girl?" Todd teased her back. He almost smiled, settling into the banter.

"Well if you must know, I was..." her teeth caught on the _s_ for a moment as she thought, "...15, workin' in a mill, and the foreman's son decided to 'ave his way with me right there on the work floor." The tiny smirk that had started to settle comfortably on Todd's face disappeared in a flash. "Well, _he_ certainly didn't get fired. Anyway, me uncle's cousin Al was looking for a wife 'few months later, and I was the great shame of the family, so it was a match made in heaven!" She looked at him with that defiant twinkle in her eye, almost daring him to snark back at her. "It's not a very fun story, but 'ere we are."

Todd gazed through her. Lucy, Nellie... women of the world being brutalized by cruel men, and for what? He stared off for a moment, forcing himself to think of anything _but_ what his wife endured. Mrs. Lovett, meanwhile, topped off both their glasses with more gin. She threw hers back and filled it up again.

"I could slit the son's throat, too," Todd offered after some time, his voice soft. His eyes met hers directly, somehow earnest and sad and angry all at once.

Mrs. Lovett chuckled a bit. "I don't think that's strictly necessary, love. But thank you." She paused, a rare quiet moment with her. "But the plan...it makes sense, right?"

Todd inhaled sharply. "The window bit seems tricky."

"An' what's wrong with the window bit?" she asked loudly, in a mock-huff. "I was quite proud of that little scheme actually."

Todd replied in his wry monotone, "The glass would need to land the other way for it to work." He smirked at her slyly.

"Aye Mr. T, think of everything you do," she say, grinning as her mind went back to the drawing board; it made her look wicked and stunning. "I'll keep thinking on it. Should take a bit anyway, don't want to draw too much attention to you whilst you're still new here," she winked at him again. "Now, 'ow's your plot coming?"

"I'm going to kill him the moment I see him," Todd replied gruffly.

Mrs. Lovett snorted lightly. "That's a great way to get sent back to Botany Bay, love. Or worse."

"So?" he answered. "Everything I love is dead. What's left for me in London once the Judge is killed?"

"Well, er..." Mrs. Lovett sputtered, "What if you see 'im on the street tomorrow and kill 'im right there?" Todd grinned imagining it. "Then you get hanged and I'm stuck with Albert till he bloody dies of old age." His grin turned to a snarl. She was right, of course.

"'sides," she whispered to him, "Johanna is still alive. Prol'ly trapped in that awful prison of a house. She could use a real father." He sighed, having resigned hope that Johanna could love him already. But maybe...not at first, but maybe one day, once she was free and knew the world outside the Judge...

"Do you have any ideas?" he asked. Loath as he was to admit it, she could plot an excellent murder.

"I'll think on it, dear." Just then, she let out a comically loud yawn. "I should retire, I think," she said, though she didn't move from the booth beside Todd. She rested her hand just above his knee, tapping lightly, and he let himself momentarily relish the warmth of another body, even if not the one he wanted. She stilled her hand, still on his thigh. Feeling bold, she pressed her lips to Sweeney Todd's cheek. "G'night, love," she whispered against him.

He relaxed, almost involuntarily, under her touch. Lucy she wasn't, and she'd never be. But she was here, and she was pretty in her own way- youthful and feral, but pretty nonetheless. She was warm. And she needed him. He could be kind, perhaps only to her.

He took her hand, the one on his knee, and wrapped it in his own. "Goodnight, Mrs. Lovett," he told her gently, his eyes meeting hers again. She stood slowly from the booth and took one last look at Sweeney Todd. He wasn't Benjamin Barker anymore, no, but she thought she already loved her Mr. T more. After one last, soft smile, she left the room. Todd downed what was left of his gin and took the inside stairs up to the cold bedroom he once shared with Lucy, hoping he could find even just a few hours' sleep that night.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you to all who have read! I appreciate all feedback, and would love to hear from more of you in the reviews. This story is an attempt at balancing several sides to a character and story I'm fascinated by in a different context than usual, and I'm grateful to all who have come along for the ride. _

_**TW: This chapter features graphic sexual violence.**__ Unfortunately, there is also some heavy plot/character work in here as well. I've put bracketed warnings around the sections containing the violence. If risking it at all is too triggering for you, please DM me and I would be happy to give you a summary of what happens as well as the reasoning behind its inclusion. _

There was a barber shop open on the second floor again. He'd had a few customers these last several days, but mostly Mrs. Lovett relished the quiet _thud_ of his footsteps as he paced. Always was a pacer, that one, but it's only gotten worse since he started plotting murders. She didn't mind, though, because at least she felt less alone in her awfully empty pie shop.

She glanced her eyes upwards toward the _thump, thump, thump_ of his footsteps and sighed happily when Albert trudged out of the parlor, an empty tumbler in hand. He gave his wife a tipsy glare. "You're in a good mood today, Nell," he said suspiciously.

"Am I?" she tried to deflect. "Just slept well last night, I think."

Albert rolled his eyes. "S'funny, innit? Ending up with another bloody barber upstairs."

"Oh hmm!" she chirped, in very convincing mock surprise. "Hadn't thought of it that way, but you're right love." She'd mastered placation long ago.

Albert snorted at her. "'course you hadn't, Nell. Course not."

She rolled her eyes and continued to knead the dough. "Wot's 'is story, anyway? Bloke don't say much," Albert continued on.

"Widower," Mrs. Lovett clipped. "Wants a fresh start."

"Huh. Luckier than the last one, I s'pose. His loony wife still out there wanderin'?"

Nellie froze for a moment before catching herself, flustered, and continuing to roll out the dough. "Not sure. Ain't seen that one in ages now." Her volume dropped considerably, but she tried to work through the nerves, balling up her dough again for more kneading.

If Albert noticed her newfound quiet, he didn't think anything of it. "Poor bugger's better off right where 'e is. Wouldn't want ter come home from Australia and catch sight o' her _now_, tell you that," he yelled, or at least it seemed that way to Nellie.

She needed him to stop talking. Now. The walls were too thin, the chances of Mr. T hearing him too high. Nellie glanced from the clock to the window—barely 5:00, but a dark wintery night that the crowds had all but abandoned. She inhaled, breathing in the light pounding of the footsteps above her to give her strength, swallowed the bile rising in her throat, and said-

"Say, love, let's get to bed." She slinked toward her husband and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling herself to him. He already stank of gin, yet she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss where his jaw should've been. "S'dark and cold, no one'll bother with a pie on a night like t'night."

Albert glared. "What's all this about?"

Nellie slipped up; she glanced not quite imperceptibly above her at the ceiling beneath those pacing, pounding feet. By the time she turned her attention back to Albert, he looked irate. "Just in the mood, love," her voice turned low, sultry, no high pitch to betray the panic she tried to stifle. She stretched up to press her lips lightly to his, placing one of his hands square on her arse. It worked, just as Nellie knew it would—he squeezed the flesh hard and kissed her back. Al pulled away and started to stomp toward the bedroom, calling "c'mon" behind him.

**[[Begin graphic content]]**

Sex had been perfunctory for all twenty years of their marriage, usually performed without removing a stitch of clothing, but Nellie needed him quiet and distracted, quick. She began unlacing her dress during her short walk through the parlor, letting it drop to the ground once the bedroom door closed behind her. She then loosened the strings on her corset, not fully enough to pull it off but so she could free her bloomers, tossing them onto her dress. She removed her knee-high stockings but didn't bother with her corset and chemise.

Albert, for his part, had removed his vest and ascot, loosened his collar, and tossed his trousers and drawers aside by the time she made it to the bedroom. He raised an eyebrow as soon as he saw her still clothed at all. "Lose the corset," he commanded, and Nellie obeyed, tossing the chemise with it. She sat, terribly exposed, on the edge of their bed, nervous as her wedding night for brand-new reasons. She tried to play cool, putting on her most sultry face and arching her back to show off her now-exposed breasts—the stakes were too high for anything less.

Albert approached her slowly, lumbering toward the bed. He stayed standing by the edge of the bed, prying her legs apart and wrapping them around his waist. He took his member in one hand and placed the other behind Nellie's neck, menacing though not terribly rough. He crushed his lips to hers for one gin-soaked kiss before sliding inside her. He withdrew just a bit before slamming into her painfully hard. "You're mine, _Mrs. Lovett_," he murmured into her ear before slamming into her again. He moved his hands to grip her hips, pinning her arms to her side in the process so she couldn't rub herself, make herself a little wetter and more ready for him. Every thrust _hurt_, and there was nothing she could do about it.

He kept up this too-hard, too-fast rhythm for quite some time before Nellie actually cried out in pain, a sharp unignorable _squeak_. "You like that, huh?" he slurred, ramming once more against her. He grabbed greedily at her full breasts, accidentally letting her out of his tight grasp in the process.

Freed at last, Nellie leaned back against the bed, arching her back and moving her fingers to her clit, rubbing gently as Albert continued to thrust harder and deeper. The pain subsided as her body finally adjusted—it didn't feel _good_, but pain no longer tore through her lower body. She closed her eyes and returned her mind to the boots upstairs. She pictured him, pacing alone in the vast emptiness of his shop. She pictured him walking steadily toward her, taking her in his arms—gently, uncertainly. She pictured him touching her—not kneading her breasts like Albert was currently, sure to leave bruises, but with a ginger-light touch, as though she were made of porcelain and not leather-thick flesh. She pictured—

"Look at me," Albert spat at her. Nellie's eyes snapped open to her husband's snarling face. She propped herself up on her elbows. Her eyes met his for just a brief moment before looking past him instead, fixed on the ceiling behind his head. He brought one hand to her throat, wrapping long, pudgy fingers around the delicate flesh.

"You're mine," he growled again, his pace growing erratic and his breathing jagged. Then, horrifically slowly, he began to tighten his grip on her. "Not. That blasted. Barber's."

Nellie gagged and choked. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Her arms flailed as she tried to wriggle away from him, but he grasped her tighter, drawing her closer to him. "Al," she mouthed, silent as night, "please." He held steady, his hand choking her and his cock ramming into her while her vision grew fuzzy and went black. Just as Nellie became certain she was going to die, he threw her down, releasing her throat. She coughed and sputtered while he spilled inside her, finally slowing down. Disgusting, she felt absolutely disgusting, and could only imagine she looked worse. Albert, for his part, rolled off and collapsed onto the bed beside her. They laid there in silence, both catching their breath.

Eventually, Albert muttered, "why don't ya clean yerself up?" Nellie didn't even have the wherewithal to glare at him. Unnervingly silent, she rose on shaky legs and tried to ignore the soreness pulsing through her. She grabbed her loosest-fitting nightgown, a wholly immodest piece with no sleeves or collar, and strode directly out of the bedroom, still nude, slamming the door behind her. "And bring me some gin!" Albert cried out after her.

She'd already planned on it. Crouching beneath the counter in her shop, she pulled a bottle of gin from the bottom of the lowest cabinet and poured generously into a tumbler before filling a basin with water. Nellie carried the basin to the fireplace to warm it and then sauntered back into the bedroom, hips swaying, Albert's drink in hand.

"Here you go, love," she purred, handing him the tumbler. He gazed at her hungrily, as if he hadn't just taken her roughly and tried to kill her mere moments ago. He drank greedily, and she turned to leave. "Back in a tick," she called out, winking out him before exiting again. The light flirtatious smirk dropped to a grimace the moment she crossed the threshold, and she walked slowly toward the warming basin. Nellie dipped a cloth into the water and dragged it across her face, wiping at her makeup. She soaked her hands directly in the warm water, washing, then took the cloth to her neck and breasts, trying to scrub away the filthy feeling of Albert's hands on her until her skin went raw, red. She soaked her hair in the basin, gently rubbed the cloth down her arms and legs, then finally tackled the bit between her thighs. Her blood mixed with Albert's seed dripped down from within her, and she felt ill as she wiped it away. The heat did little to sooth the pain, but at least it removed all traces of _him _from her body. Feeling clean enough, if not clean, Nellie absentmindedly toweled herself dry and shrugged on her nightgown.

**[[End graphic content]]**

She caught a glimpse of herself in the looking-glass; wet curls hung limply around her gaunt face, each strand pointing toward the deep purple bruise painted across her throat. The nightgown left little enough to the imagination, revealing the tops of her breasts with black finger-shaped marks peeking out for the world to see. And, of course, her makeup was more smudged than actually removed. _Utterly pathetic,_ she thought. _Perfect_.

Tiptoeing back into the bedroom, Nellie smirked upon finding her husband passed out ungracefully on their bed, half-naked and snoring on his back, his member still in one hand and an empty tumbler in the other. A tot of laudanum-laced gin hadn't failed her yet, thank heavens. She pulled on fresh bloomers and stepped into her slippers. Rain began to beat at her window. _All the better. _She left the bedroom yet again, gingerly closing the door behind her before crossing her parlor into her shop. It couldn't be too late, yet the sky was pitch-black and the damp street outside completely abandoned. Inhaling deeply, she opened the front door and stepped out into the rain, climbing the outside steps to her tenant's apartment.

She knocked with a heavy hand, tears pricking at her eyes and mixing with the rain dripping down her face, pounding rapidly on the door. Mr. Todd opened the door after what felt like an age. "Mrs. Lovett?" he asked, annoyed. That is, until he actually looked at her, when his expression turned to shock.

"Tomorrow," she demanded, "we'll do it tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

_We're back with a new chapter! And getting close to the really good part ;) Thank you to my reviewers and followers—please let me know what you think of this little story so far!_

His eyes had been closed, picturing the scene. _A little picnic beneath a large oak tree. Blonde tresses and a wide smile hidden under the brim of a straw bonnet, pale blue eyes peaking out at the flowers in full bloom all around them._

_They'd been so young, so carefree. It was a time before his back twinged with every tiny motion, back when his eyes crinkled only in laughter and his brow seldom furrowed. Lucy giggled as he chased after his hat fluttering away in the wind, although he was very much __not__ giggling. He was nervous, and she could tell._

_"Oh please Ben, do try to find the fun today!" she urged him, and he found the fortitude to smile despite himself._

_"I'm sorry darling," he said, "I'm simply a bit distracted."_

_"What's wrong?" she asked sweetly, her bright eyes wide with concern._

_"I...it's just...Lucy Davies, will you marry me?" he blurted._

_She gasped, beautifully. Everything she did, she did beautifully._

_"Ben...I, Ben, oh of—"_

Beating at his door broke him from his sweetest memory. Irate, he stood after a moment, plodding over to the door and swinging it open with a razor in hand.

She seemed so small, so sad, and fury bubbled up inside him at the sight. Sweeney Todd ushered her into his shop, out of the rain, but froze as he truly looked at her. Her gown clung to her body, her damp hair dripping down her shoulders, but his eyes instantly drew to the ugly purple handprint around her pale throat. They stood facing each other at arms length, and Todd quickly tucked his razor into his pocket.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Lovett finally whimpered. She wiped at the few tears threatening to fall with the back of her hand, refusing to give into sobs while her face set in a stony pout. Todd couldn't take it anymore—he stepped toward her and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close. She closed her eyes and nuzzled her face into his chest, her fists balling at the fabric of his shirt. One of his hands rested snugly around her waist, the other gently rubbing her shoulder blade with his thumb. Fifteen years without any loving contact, and he came home to hold his landlady, not his wife. _Lucy's gone_, he reminded himself. _You couldn't save her, but you can help Nellie_. _Mrs. Lovett_, he corrected himself internally, not ready for the intimacy of first names with the woman downstairs just yet. Guilt settled heavy in his gut, and he tried to let it wash away with the rain soaking into his shirt from Mrs. Lovett's damp dress.

"What did he do?" Todd asked gruffly. He heard a sharp inhale from the woman in his arms and looked down to see her face almost pensive, as if for the first time she needed to search for words. With a guiding hand on the small of her back, he led her to his more private quarters. The springs on the bed the Lovetts provided creaked when he sat heavy upon it, gesturing for her to join. Mrs. Lovett hesitated, surveying her wet clothes. "I don't sleep much anyway," he said, and she placed herself lightly beside him on the very edge of the mattress.

"He was...rough tonight," she finally answered him. "Rougher than usual. Like he really _wanted_ it to hurt." Todd winced. "Then right before he..." she hesitated, embarrassed, "er, _finished_, he started ter choke me out. Thought I was gonna die then and there, tell the truth."

She looked away from him, one hand absentmindedly rubbing at her injured throat. "Tell ya Mr. T, you men got the better end o' that bargain. Never hurts you lot."

He blushed a deeper crimson than she thought possible for the half-dead-looking man, and then quietly said, "S'not supposed to hurt you either."

She scoffed. "I've got more'n twenty years says otherwise. The choking bit, that was unusual, but the rest not too far off."

"Well maybe no one's done it right with you before," he said, still blushing, forcing himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes, so wide and such a beautiful dark hazel, looking at him with a wry amusement that would annoy him on anyone else but charmed on her. Her full lips, so red and plump and begging for his to meet them. He wanted to shake the very notion away—he was _married_, for Christ's sake—but there Mrs. Lovett...Nellie sat, looking messy and proud and utterly intoxicating.

She must have sensed his desire, because she quipped, "Is that a diagnosis or an offer Mr. T?"

He sputtered and grew wide eyed, but couldn't look away from her. "I...er-"

No matter; she brought her lips to his just fine on her own, pressing to him with fervor and passion he hadn't expected. Gently, tentatively, he kissed her back, his hand touching her cheek ghostly-light, and she wrapped her arms eagerly around his neck, pulling herself closer to him and deepening the kiss. Fully giving in, he tangled one hand in her hair and slid his other to her waist, drawing her onto his lap. She straddled him, her wet nightgown soaking into his trousers but he didn't care once he felt her brush against his hardening cock. He arched his hips up, pressing himself into her—he hadn't touched, hadn't tasted a woman since...since—

They pulled back at the same time, Mrs. Lovett whimpering in pain while he explained, "we shouldn't do this."

"m'afraid I agree," Mrs. Lovett muttered, still wincing as she climbed off his lap. "S'all a bit tender tonight, love. Maybe...another time?"

The brimming hope in her clear, dark eyes struck him so, he couldn't bring himself to deny her; he neither agreed nor disagreed, but sat perfectly, coldly still. She fidgeted a bit beside him.

"Mr. T...do you mind if I stay up here for a bit?" He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she whispered with wide eyes, "_I don't want to share his bed tonight._"

Sighing, Todd nodded, peeling his arm from the damp nightgown that clung to him. "Let me get you something dry to wear."

Mrs. Lovett smiled wider than she meant to, chirping, "Thank you love!"

Todd, meanwhile, realized he did not actually own a nightshirt. Locating one of his few button-down shirts, he handed it to Mrs. Lovett. "Will this do?"

"Perfectly, Mr. T." She turned her back to him to change, and he tried not to gawk as she peeled the already-indecent nightgown from her body. He caught sight of her bare back, her silhouette teasing the curves of her ample chest, and Todd turned his own back to avert his gaze.

"There, all covered," she said out loud, signaling that he could turn back around. And what a sight to behold—Mrs. Lovett in his shirt, left dangerously unbuttoned around her full breasts with her bloomers peeking out from under the hem. "Apologies for the immodesty, dear, but the buttons were strained to break when I tried."

He could see the bruises from her earlier tryst with her husband; joining them were tinier scars and little discolorations down what was exposed of her torso. Her curves softened, freed from the harsh corset or billowing nightgown. The sleeves bunched up as she tried to stop the fabric from spilling over her hands—she was quite short, and Todd quite tall. He couldn't stop himself, inappropriate though it was, from staring at the purple bruises on her breasts.

"Enjoyin' the view, Mr. T?" she quipped at him. His eyes snapped to her face and his cheeks flushed.

"Are you in pain?" he managed to ask.

"Only a bit love, nothing serious." Her voice had turned solemn as well.

Todd said nothing, but pulled back the covers from his mattress and indicated for her to get under. She did so eagerly, while he crossed around the bed to the other side. He sat upright, knowing sleep wouldn't come tonight. Mrs. Lovett curled up beside him on the narrow bed, her knees to her chest and her back to Todd, as if to make herself as small and convenient as possible. He ignored her, instead closing his eyes and trying to return to his happy memory but with no luck.

_Something crashed downstairs. This was in the days before Lucy moved in, when he lived as a bachelor above the pie shop and first sold his wares in the front room. It was late, or perhaps early morning—no light but moonlight shone on the dirty streets below. Benjamin sat upright in bed, gasping. A burglar!_

_Quick as a flash, he grabbed one of his razors—a precious, expensive gift from his father, and the only weapon-like thing he owned. Flicking the razor open, he crept down the internal stairs that led to the Lovetts' parlor. He could hear movement below, and a muffled voice._

_A shadowy figure awaited him in the parlor, staring at the bookshelf by the wall with something dangling from his hands, a jewel perhaps. The thief—he'd arrived the just in time! Tiptoeing toward the wall, Ben remained silent. Then he pounced, grabbing the intruder by the wrists and snatching the jewel out of their hands. The razor glinted in the dying embers of the fireplace._

_The figure shrieked. "Get off!" His apprehended struggled against him, kicking out a leg that he just managed to dodge and lunging to bite at him. The jewel he'd saved slipped out of his grasp to the ground when realized—_

_"Oh no Mrs. Lovett it's me!" He released her from his grip and, after pocketing the razor, placed his hands gently on her shoulders to calm her down and stop her attack. "it's Ben, it's me, I'm so sorry I thought—"_

_She gasped, freezing in place. "Blimey, Ben! I thought you was a thief," she cried, still gasping for breath. Remarkably, he thought, Mr. Lovett hadn't stirred in the ruckus._

_He chucked, saying "I thought YOU were a thief!" She began to giggle too, albeit nervously._

_Their tittering calmed after a few moments, leaving them silent in the parlor, with Ben's hands still on her shoulders. Giving him what looked like a smirk in the dark of that night, she broke from his grasp to light a lamp, dimly but enough that they could see each other properly. She then guided him to the loveseat and sat opposite him, her back to her bedroom door. The industrious, diligent Mrs. Lovett of daytime had melted away into a younger-seeming woman—long ringlets of crimson hair tumbling elegantly down her back replaced the severe bun her hair was normally tucked into, and a grey flannel night dress billowed around her stockinged feet instead of the shortened skirts and heavy boots the mistress of the pie shop wore. She looked almost girlish for a married lady, he thought. A bruise had formed beneath her eye, and a scab split her lower lip._

_"Oh no," he muttered, as much to himself as to her. She frowned. "Mrs. Lovett, you're hurt." Unthinking, he took her head in his hands, moving his face toward her to take a closer look. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize—"_

_"—Oh, it wasn't you Mr. Barker," she said, to placate. "I took a bit of a tumble, probably wot made you think I broke in."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"'Course, dear," she said, clearly not wanting to discuss it further—though she remained with her head in his hands. They sat in silence for a moment, Mrs. Lovett looking off while Ben searched her face for a sign of what she was hiding._

_"What was that in your hand?" he finally asked._

_"Hmm?"_

_"The thing you were holding. That I took from you," he added, sheepishly._

_"Oh!" she jumped up from the sofa and ran around to the bookcase, finding the discarded item. Walking back over to the loveseat, she sat gently, her hands cradling a broken necklace—a thin chain which had snapped, holding a tiny silver locket. "It was a gift from me mum. Al—it caught on something tonight, and I got a bit upset."_

_"Yer mam got you that?" Ben asked, examining the piece. "S'lovely."_

_"Aye," Mrs. Lovett said, stifling a giggle. "Sounded a bit Irish there, mate," she teased him._

_Ben blushed. "She's from Belfast," he explained, grinning a bit and meeting her eyes. "My dad's a proper Londoner, but I always slip into me mam's voice when I talk about her."_

_Mrs. Lovett smiled and patted his knee. "I'm sure she's wonderful."_

_"She is," Ben smiled at her. After a moment, Ben reached out to touch one of her ruby-red curls. "Your hair...you look much more relaxed, Mrs. Lovett," he said gently. _

_"Ahh Mr. B.," she grinned wickedly at him, "hair is much more comfier when it's let loose, I do say—"_

_A shout of "_NELL" _snapped them both from their conversation. "Wot's goin' on out here?"_

_Her smiled turned to a grimace. "Nothing, dear. I'm comin' back to bed now." She looked at Ben apologetically and rose from the loveseat. "G'night, Mr. B.," she said gently. "And thank you." When she stood, they found Mr. Lovett standing in the doorwa—_

"Remember that night you tried to kill me?" Mrs. Lovett murmured from beside him in bed, again bursting him from his memories.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "I didn't try to kill you."

"You pounced on me wiv a razor and nearly scared your poor ol' landlady to death!" she huffed, turning toward him to reveal a smirk.

"Old?" he asked wryly. Mrs. Lovett glared up at him, only to find his face in a semi-snarl, semi-smirk, his tone even as always. "You'd know if I tried to kill you, Mrs. Lovett. Besides, you sounded like a thief banging around the parl..." A sudden realization hit him. "Albert broke your necklace, didn't he?"

She snorted. "Yes, love," she said. "He thought we was shaggin' back then, too. Assumed that a gift from me mum was a token of _your_ affection and ripped it clean off my throat."

He sat silent for a moment. Whatever of Benjamin was left in him felt stupid and ashamed of never realizing what had happened; he hadn't even begun to realize the Lovetts' marital woes until Lucy, perceptive of other's emotions and easily frightened to boot, mentioned them to him. "You were different then," he said after some time. "Quieter."

She chuckled a bit. "Was still tryin' to be a 'good wife' then, I s'pose. Wanted to seem older and ladylike and all tha'."

"Gave _that_ up, haven't you?" Mrs. Lovett was surprised to find a smirk on his lips and a glint in his eye when she gazed up at him.

She rolled onto her stomach and propped up on her elbows, arching up at him with her lips in a wicked grin. "Wasn't no fun. Those tight buns, _ach_" she ran a hand through her free red curls in emphasis. "And trying to stay quiet all the time! No, s'better to just get punished than live under someone's thumb like that."

"What changed?" he asked softly.

"Well I realized," she began, tracing one finger along his forearm, "if I'm to get beat to a bloody pulp for haunting me tenant's bed either way, might as well enjoy it."

His face hardened again. She withdrew her finger from his forearm and, sighing, dropped back onto the bed, careful not to touch him. After several minutes of silence from the barber, who closed his eyes without another word to her, Nellie let her eyes drift shut, ready for fitful sleep.

She awoke when the first signs of dawn began to peak through the black London sky. "Mrs. Lovett," muttered his gruff voice, as a strong hand gently shook her shoulder. Her eyes popped open. Her head rested somewhere warm—as she pushed herself up, she realized she'd been curled up on Sweeney Todd's lap. "M'sorry, love," she muttered to him.

Once freed, he stood up to find and hand over Mrs. Lovett's discarded nightgown, laid against the table and almost dry. "Here," he said stiffly. "You might want to head down, before he notices where you've been."

She nodded and began to unbutton his shirt. Before the barber had time to protest, she stood before him in only her bloomers, and he couldn't look away. Her skin was glistening pale, her body soft with dramatic curves at her chest and hips, and no marks or imperfections could detract from its beauty. He was almost sad to see her shrug the cotton dress back on, hiding her from him.

Mrs. Lovett handed him back his shirt. "Thanks for this," she said shyly. "And thanks for letting me stay, Mr. T." She lowered her eyes, as if afraid of him despite her comfort only seconds ago.

He placed a heavy hand on her shoulders. "Of course," he replied gruffly. "Get ready for tonight."

Smiling gently up at him, Mrs. Lovett turned to go down the internal stairs. Once out of sight, she grinned broadly—everything she wanted was nearly hers. Seeing how he just stared at her, his gaze affixed to her chest—it was only a matter of time once Albert was dispatched that Sweeney Todd shared her bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Well, we're back. I'll likely be writing more, what with all the *guestures vaguely at the world.* Let me know what you think!

_Thank god he sleeps so bloody long_, Mrs. Lovett thought as she transported yet another apronful of valuables down to the bakehouse. It was nearly noon, and he hadn't so much as stirred while his wife hid away the sort of objects a thief in the night would most certainly target.

She buzzed with excitement the whole of the day, despite the uncomfortably high collar on her dress. A moment she'd longed for year after twenty years, and she would have it _tonight_. She trudged back up the bakehouse stairs to the storefront, a tray of pies serving as cover for her little robbery. Impatient for nightfall, she began to clean the counter in her shop, grateful to spend some excess energy on something so mindless. _Twelve more hours. Nothin', hardly_ she thought to herself, scrubbing at the grime and soothing herself.

Al stumbled into the shop. "You're up," Nellie said breezily. Al grunted but, sneaking behind the counter, grabbed his wife around the waist and pinched her arse.

"Oh!" she cried out at the contact. She struggled not to roll her eyes—he was always in a better mood after sex, no matter the quality or her enjoyment. He pressed his body to hers and his lips to her cheek, and she forced herself to accept his touch. She turned in his arms and gave him a smirk. "Hungry, love?"

"You bet," he growled at her, diving in for a kiss. She dodged him and pushed a plate in between them to get Albert away from her.

"Uh-uh, for _food_," she admonished flirtatiously, "I have far too much to do to cut my day short _again_ for you, Mr. Lovett."

He frowned, but accepted the pie in front of him. "What's with the dress?" he asked between bites.

_You bloody tried to kill me last night, _Nellie thought to herself before answering, "Well, _somebody_ left marks on me poor throat last night, and the last thing our suff'ring shop needs is word going 'round that I'm a harlot." She topped it off with a wink, and Albert, now finished his pie, drew her close to him with an arm around her waist.

"Well then, don't be a harlot," he replied in return, low and gruff. As best Nellie could tell, it was an attempt at flirting. Luckily, a bell ringing above her shop door saved her from needing to return the offer. She turned around to find two strangers—_customers!_—standing in the doorway. "Aye, off with ye," she said, swatting her husband away playfully. He grinned at her and, pinching her arse again, left the room, leaving his wife to not react. To the strangers, they probably looked ungodly happy; the thought almost made her sick. She smiled wide at the couple with the misfortune of ordering her pies. "What can I get you both?"

"A pie and ale each?" The young man ordered for both.

She nodded. "Comin' right up! Take a seat where you like, I'll have 'em to you in just a tick." She took a tray out of her little warming oven and grabbed the two least-sad-looking pies to toss onto plates. She filled up their ale glasses as well, then found them enjoying each other's close company on the same side of one of her tiny booths.

"All right, here you two go," Nellie announced loudly, breaking them only momentarily apart. She winked at them cheekily, glad for the company and the money. She returned to her scrubbing, happy to let the couple chatter—and occasionally snog—away.

More than an hour later, the man in the booth called Mrs. Lovett over. "How much will that be, ma'am?"

"Oh, four pence each for ye." He rummaged through his pockets for the coins.

Meanwhile, the young lady beside him—a pretty young thing, with dark hair and bright green eyes—finally spoke up, in a bell-like voice: "Ma'am, was that your husband here before?"

Nellie swallowed her grimace and nodded. "Aye it was. Married twenty years this past month, matter o'fact," she managed to reply diplomatically.

"Wow..." the girl said breathlessly to herself, as if trying to imagine herself twenty years from now—_nevermind I was younger'n you when it started, _Nellie thought uncharitably. "I just...it's wonderful to see a couple still so in love after all that time." The girl beamed up at her, and Nellie managed a smile in return.

"You're very kind, miss." She heard the clanking of coins on the table. "Now, you two enjoy your day, and come back soon, y'hear?" Both nodded eagerly. The man stood and offered his arm to the giggling young woman, who happily accepted. By the time they finally left the shop, it was nearing 2:30. _9 and a half more hours. Nothin' at all_, Nellie thought to herself. And she was delighted to find 10p on the table where the couple had sat—tuppence for a tip! for her awful pies!

"Al!" she called out into the parlor, "I'm heading to the marketplace."

"Pick up some gin or ale!" came his call back.

"We got plenty o' both!" she hollered back, before turning to leave.

Despite herself, Nellie decided she would buy the gin in addition to the week's groceries. _Hell_, she thought_, I'll even get to enjoy some of it_. The thought, the tiny luxury, put a smile on her face as she crossed away from Fleet Street through children playing with a ball in the street despite the ungodly cold. The lads brightened her smile even further.

Suddenly, a carriage whipped through the street. Mrs. Lovett and the larger boys managed to dodge it with plenty of time, but one's legs simply weren't moving fast enough. "Oi!" Mrs. Lovett cried, rushing toward the boy and pulling him to safety just before the horses trampled through. One hand flew to her chest to calm her pounding heart, while the other remained gripping the boy's arm.

"You need to be careful lad!" She admonished, but gently. "Where's your mum?"

"Work," the boy answered curtly, not making eye contact.

Glancing about, Nellie had an idea: ""Ere lads," she offered, pointing toward the shop, "See my little courtyard right there?" The gaggle of boys nodded. "My shop is closed, so no one will be 'round. Go play your ball there rather than the street, eh?" The group took off running without answering, eager to play and not caring where. Turning back to her task, Nellie smirked to herself.

When she arrived back to the shop, potatoes and some meat and yes, gin, in arm, Nellie found the boys gone as the sun began to set. She entered through the shop to muffled grousing from her husband. Putting her bags on the counter, she crossed through the parlor toward the noise. "Rotten boys," Al muttered to himself as she stepped into the bedroom. She found him hammering a board haphazardly across a shattered window.

"Wot's happened 'ere?" she asked breathlessly, sounding convincingly shocked.

He huffed. "Some blasted kids playin' in the courtyard tossed a ball clean through the window. Chased 'em off but need to finish the boarding up."

"Oh no, love," she muttered halfheartedly. "I got some gin."

"Bring me a glass."

"Gladly." Mrs. Lovett returned to the kitchen, stopping to fill up the pantry before filling a tumbler with the older gin and returning to her bedroom. "'Ere you go, Al."

He didn't quite glare at her, but looked generally displeased. The board held shoddily, but he still said, "There, that'll hold for tonight." He sipped at his gin.

"Right then, I'll get started on supper," Nellie said after a moment, mostly to herself.

"Started?" Al asked, "It's nearly 5 o'clock!"

Her back already turned on her husband, Nellie beamed wildly to herself. "Is it?" she asked breezily. _Seven hours, give or take. Nothin' at all_. "I hadn't noticed the clock."

She stood at the counter, chopping potatoes and boiling water, when Mr. Todd came downstairs from his shop.

"'ow was your day, Mr. T?" she inquired, smiling.

He arched an eyebrow at her, but only said gloomily, "No judge."

"Oh love, give it time yet," she chirped, "you've only been the best new barber around for a couple o' days now." Then, glancing toward the parlor to find her husband engrossed in his own tasks, said low to her conspirator, "I dealt with the window bit." She grinned, then plopped the potatoes into the boiling pot.

"Have you now?" he asked, almost disinterested.

"It's busted the right way now, and badly boarded at that. We're good to go."

"Glad to hear it." The monotone from him, again. Mrs. Lovett rolled her eyes.

"Aye, cheer up. You've a throat to cut tonight, and I been thinkin' on the Judge for you too, I have. S'only a matter of time, dear." He ignored her, of course.

Chopping at some carrots, Mrs. Lovett had a brilliant idea. "Gah," she barely muttered to herself as the knife nicked her finger, droplets of blood appearing on the thin cut. "Oi, you think I'd've stopped cutting meself ages ago now. Clumsy me," she said, lifting the bleeding finger.

Now she had Mr. Todd's attention. She pressed the cut against her full lips and sucked lightly, glancing up at Todd with heavy-lidded eyes after a few moments. Pulling her finger from her lips, she frowned upon seeing it still bleed. She squeezed until one drop hit her counter. Mr. Todd remained entranced at the sight of the blood.

"Aye, love," she whispered seductively. "There's more of that in store tonight." They shared a brief smirk while Mrs. Lovett added the carrots to her boiling pot. "See you in a tick," her low voice drawled, her eyes alight.


End file.
